


Words to never say

by trashemdudes



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, featuring tim being an idiot, i just want them to be all better, not romantic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 17:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10621644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashemdudes/pseuds/trashemdudes
Summary: Tim breaks into Stephanie's house.





	

The old brownstone is... familiar.

It’s... too many memories and not enough. 

Tim’s fingers twitch almost longingly at the thought of the sun-warmed brick against his hands. The feeling of holding onto the window sill, anticipating Stephanie opening the window and her. Just her. Where just seeing her makes everything alright.

_ Better times _ , Tim thinks.

The very first time Tim had seen the building, he had been too busy trying to get a particular reckless, annoying girl out of his face and his only thought on it was that it looked like the big bad wolf could blow the pile of bricks over, but. 

It’s still there, years later. 

Now, on the adjacent rooftop, Tim’s kneeling on the grit and cement, binoculars in his hands, and feeling faintly like an eight year old chasing after a yellow cape. It makes him crack the smallest smile.

That was half a lifetime ago.

And now it’s already been two years since Robin. 

Since a multitude of things Tim likes to pretend never happened.

He shifts in his perch, checking his watch. 

It’s one a.m. which means Stephanie’s still out for patrol. She’s probably somewhere near Cape Carmine at this point, just far enough away on the other side of the East End for Tim to not die of anxiety.

She’d be clad in eggplant purple and black - the yellow bat on her chest the only warning before she descended and began the onslaught of puns and punches with a wild grin, hair loose in the wind - because superheroing hasn’t changed a single bright thing about her. 

Tim, on the other hand, has not changed a single one of his bad habits because this is the second week Tim’s mapped her patrol schedule.

Which, okay. Creepy, admittedly, but even without trying, he already knows most of her schedule because Batman and Oracle have schedules in place to ensure that all of Gotham’s covered, all night long. The thing is that Stephanie doesn’t always follow the schedule, so Tim needs to make sure.

Because it isn’t okay, in any way, for him to be breaking into his ex-girlfriend’s house to take back a textbook he’d lent her just to avoid having to talk to her. It’s also because Tim has a feeling that any request to Stephanie from him would either lead to him getting beat up or a very long drawn out stalemate that would actually be her using his textbook as firewood.

For s'mores.

With Cass.

He puts his binoculars down and reaches for his grappling hook, heart thudding in his chest.  He shoots it to that worn groove of the rooftop of Stephanie’s apartment building and swings out, the exact curve and pull muscle memory at this point. 

Scaling down the building again - too easy - lets him get lost in his thoughts. 

The textbook’s by Leong Fu, a first edition, and while it isn’t like Tim doesn’t have money to spare or cares whether it's first edition or not, he has old notes in there from his time with Lady Shiva and training with Dick and Bruce - little reminders for exercises and perfect form that he doesn’t like asking for again.

It’s a precious memento, and Tim had lent it to Stephanie with that in mind, that after she returned it to him, it’d be built upon, new wrinkles, folds, dings that would be proof that Stephanie had been there.

There would be  _ more _ , along with the notes of encouragement Dick had left in and inane scribbles from Kon and Bart when he had made the fatal mistake of bringing it to the Titans’ tower.

When Tim reaches her window, he easily picks the lock and slips inside, the scent of Stephanie’s lavender soap hitting him face first. He can’t help the twitch of his lips at the thought of Stephanie choosing  _ purple  _ soap.

And then.

He has to pause because it’s the familiar feeling of coming back to a place you missed, the feeling of coming back to some place wholly  _ good _ . 

Tim smiles at the twinge in his chest.

Then Tim glances over the room, finding that her room isn’t messy, but it isn’t organized either. Not as bad as him or Cass,  _ no _ , but her clothes are placed in an unfolded pile on the floor and papers and books are piled on her bed and the floor. Mugs with half full or with rings at the bottom cover her table. She’d been neater when they were dating — probably because they had been dating. 

Tim had been too. Now it looks like a hurricane had gone through her room.

Looking around, he tries to imagine where she would have put the book. Bookcase, table, with the other piles of books near and on her bed. Or if she had been particularly holding a grudge, maybe kicked under the bed, or thrown in the back of the closet. 

Tim pauses.

And then ducks under the bed to glance around; he flicks his flashlight on and there isn’t anything except dust bunnies - and a voodoo doll of Tim covered in needles, “From Damian” written on its tag. 

Ok.

Tim backs out from under the bed and then pulls open the closet door, the hinges letting out a loud creak that has Tim’s heart jumping out of his mouth. 

Relax, Tim tells himself. You planned this out, told Barbara that you’d be a bit busy - and everyone else but Stephanie had their hands full in Gotham with specific cases they were focused on. So she’d be patrolling Tim’s route too - Tim suddenly realizes that he’d given her extra work so that he could break into her apartment.

Tim’s pretty sure he's just slammed into rock bottom for unethical, creepy humans that exist, but he’ll think about that and sorely regret his existence when he isn’t in danger of a restraining order.

He flicks the flashlight on again, crawling into the piled boxes and haphazardly thrown clothes, feeling around for anything that could be his book. 

Then there’s the sound of keys — maybe a neighbor — there’s a long silence and then some loud cursing.

That’s  _ definitely _ Stephanie — and then door’s being kicked down. Tim winces at the sound of wood splintering. 

He dives headfirst into the closet, pulling the door shut, and throwing clothes over his head — he ends up with panties on his head again. At least _this_ time he knows whose they are.

“I’m not here. I’m not here. I’m not here,” Tim chants under his breath. 

If he says it three times, it’s real.

“Fuck. Fuck him,” Steph mutters bitterly.

Tim blinks in the sudden darkness of the closet, his eyes adjusting slowly and his breathing slowing in the stuffy room - the feeling of nostalgia and warmth from before fading away. Tim’s back, left with the knowledge that he’s doing something wrong. He’s breaking her trust; he’s hurting her  _ again _ , and it leaves a cold feeling at the pit of his stomach. 

“I was doing what I was supposed to do. Oracle thinks I did fine, but apparently I didn’t catch on fast enough. Apparently I’m not good enough for him.”

There’s the sound of her bo staff being thrown onto the floor, and Tim winces. He knows it’s not strange for her to be mad at Bruce, but their fights have never been pretty, Stephanie always the one taking the brunt of the damage. At the core of it, Tim knows that they have conflicting opinions on how people should be treated, and the final fact is: Bruce never bends to someone else’s will. 

“Telling me to go home because I wasn’t thinking clearly. Fine. Bruce. You take on Gotham by yourself like the shitty dark knight you are.”

There’s a long ragged breath — and Tim  _ knows _ that sound, knows it like the back of his hand.

Stephanie starts sobbing softly.

“I’m sorry I have college. I’m sorry I want to have friends outside of this work. Not everyone’s a fucking billionaire with a butler. I need to be able to help my mom pay for this apartment and for food and all the bills. But does he ever realize that people have to pay for things?  _ No _ . I have to lie to my mom  _every_ day and eat cup noodles for two months just to afford my textbooks, and it’s humiliating, and I can’t even fucking tell him because he just can’t understand. I walk in there, after work, school, homework, ready for another night of patrol, and he’s ignoring the fucking lobster Alfred cooked for him.”

There’s her ragged breathing.

“I’m... I’m  _ tired _ ,” Stephanie finally whispers, like she doesn’t even dare admit it. 

Tim looks down at the shadows on his uniform, thinking about the brioni shirt he’d been wearing the other day. About six hundred dollars for one starched white shirt. Tim forgets. About the other life he has - the fact that most people only have that everyday life where money’s the problem - not the bad guys toting big guns.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Tim sinks deeper into the pile of clothing, breathing in the heated air and the dust particles that float through the strips of light slashing into the closet. 

There’s other muffled sounds that Tim can’t identify as she stomps across the carpet, throwing off her gear - she’s in the middle of stripping.

Tim turns red as he shoves his face into his knees. The stomping pauses, and there’s the creak of her mattress. 

“I should go back out and show him...I know Babs told me to take a break for the night since I have finals coming up but - god stupid fucking Batman. Stupid piece of shit in a underwear costume who can’t even be human for once. Hope he remembers that Kara could give him a wedgie any day she wanted.”

Then it’s quiet, just the liquid beat of Tim’s heart to accompany him.

He nearly jumps out of his skin at Stephanie’s loud shout.

“ _ I hate you _ ,” Stephanie yells, sharp and short, but it’s only tired and petulant. “So  _ why _ does it still feel like it’s my  _ fault _ ?” 

There’s silence again and Tim can almost see the glistening tears dripping down the sides of her face, dissipating into her wild, soft hair.

He can’t say it now - can’t say he wants to put her above everything because he can’t, won’t, wouldn’t, and he sits there in the back of the closet between a miniature crayon stuffed animal he’d won Stephanie and the human sized bear she’d won herself, listening to her breathing and feeling exponentially worse with each second. 

_ I want to save you. _

She doesn’t need his saving.

And Tim doesn’t deserve the easy route anyway. 

Tim lets his head fall back against the stuffed bear and it — squeaks.

Fuck. Tim forgot it did that. Even though Stephanie had nearly driven him insane with it the whole night at the carnival, laughing and lying her ass off that she would stop if he just bought her  _ another _ cotton candy, that she’d really stop this time if he just bought her a cotton candy  _ machine _ .

He’d been tempted.

Just to see her smile.

There’s a deathly silence in the room — Tim pauses —  _ deadly _ ’s probably the better word.

She steps towards the closet, and Tim holds his breath, pulse thundering in his ears. She slams the door open, and Tim’s promptly almost murdered by Steph’s boot on his throat.

“Whoever the fuck you are, I’m going to- “ A long silence. “Tim,” she says flatly.

Tim opens his eyes, squinting at the bright light and the red rim around her eyes making his chest squeeze like it had learned to do for her so long ago. Muscle memory. Like Tim had said. 

“H-hey,” Tim croaks.

She presses down harder with her boot, Tim letting a strangled sound out, before pursing her lips and letting him go. Tim falls down to his knees, coughing as he recognizes Stephanie moving away from the closet by the slide of her shadow away from him. It’s too bright now.

When he finally crawls out, feeling pathetic and guilty, he squints up to see Stephanie staring down impassively at him. Yeah. She’d never been one to cry in front of other people if she could help it.

Tim had been the crier in their relationship.

“I can explain...if you’re willing to listen to me,” Tim finally decides on. He stands up slowly, words circling his brain, taunting. And — Tim doesn’t know what to do. There’s nothing he can really do here. He’d made a mistake and it’s only really settling in his mind now.

Stephanie shrugs, wiping her nose. It almost seems like she’s muted, but then she snaps her head back up, her red-rimmed eyes carrying a weight as she replies, “Screw you, Tim. You sick, stupid, perverted, useless idiot.”

And then — Tim should’ve seen it coming — she kicks him hard in the knee. Except she accidentally starts his knee-jerk reflex that has him lifting his leg involuntarily. She pauses in her sniffling, “Were you going to kick me back?”

She sounds so completely mortally offended even as Tim struggles to string words together.

“No- I Steph, it was just-”

She clenches her jaw shut and folded her arms over herself, still sniffling again, “You _ were _ going to kick me back.”

Tim tilts his head, hands held up, “What? Okay, no Stephanie I would-”

He’s really expecting a kick in the crotch or a slap. 

But there’s nothing.

Tim had looked away, but now he turns back to her.

“Patellar reflex,” Stephanie finally says, her atmosphere muted again, “Yeah I know, stupid. I just,” She pushes loose strands of hair from her face as she looks up, trying to keep the tears from spilling over, sniffling, “I just get a bit over excited sometimes. I... I’m not like the rest of you. I still have my mom, and I was never immersed in it like you guys, like you needed it like air. But I’m good at it. I save people. And that’s-” Her expression’s one of joy and relief at the memories, “it’s  _ good _ , but he just makes me feel so goddamn...” She swallows, and Tim’s fingers itch. 

“...he makes me feel like I don’t belong there, Tim. And I’ve worked as hard as you all. I care just as much. I’m not weak. Not by normal human standards at least,” she muttered bitterly. “He’s all growly, oh, you have to be a symbol and keeps on bringing up a stupid bird name about one that can’t even fight. Can you imagine a robin fighting?”

Tim grins weakly, “Yeah. I can say I can. I’ve seen you fight Stephanie, and that’s not leaving my mind anytime soon.”

They both pause.

“Oh God, that didn’t - did that come out in a good way because I meant it in a good way.”

Tim chews nervously on his lip at her silent scrutiny at that and finally says softly, “I’m sorry I was hiding in your closet. I was looking for a book I lent you, and I figured you wouldn’t want to see me. And I’m sorry for overhearing...I shouldn’t have.”

She stares him down, impassively, and Tim notes that the tears haven’t fallen; her eyes are puffy but definitely dry now.

“That didn’t make anything better.”

“Um.”

“At all.”

Tim gives a nervous little laugh.

“...take your textbook, Tim.” she says with a sigh, “It’s in the lockbox in the vent in that corner,” she points.

“Oh, tha-”

“Not because I didn’t want to trash it and text you a pic of it on fire, but it was useful.”

Tim walks over to the vent, using a screwdriver to take off the grate, and then at the sight of the lockbox, pauses to look at her for a key.

She gives him a flat look, folding her arms over her chest, “Pick it yourself, Boy Wonder.”

And yea. Tim did sort of just break into her apartment and go through her stuff. He deserves worse than what he’s getting.

Tim turns back to the box, taking out a lockpick as he asks, trying for conversation to avoid his guilt, “You were studying it?” It takes him a few moments before he hears the telltale click.

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you ask Cass or Oracle?”

“They’re busy.”

“Are they?” Tim asks, taking the book out. He doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s no room in her voice for argument or encouragement.

Tim looks down at the book instead. It’s in as good condition as it had been when Tim had given it to her. He can still see it though, a couple scratches on the cover, more lines on the spine.

Tim turns to her, looking up at her from where he sits cross-legged. He waits for her.

“Bruce isn’t right about me,” Stephanie says and cracks might be how the light got in, how Stephanie stays free from the harshening of crimefighting. 

She’s bright.

“...Yeah. He is,” Tim says, “He’s wrong about a lot of things. You’re good at what you do.”

Stephanie furrows her brow for a moment before sighing; she doesn’t smile when she says the old joke from when they were dating, the one that was funny because they  _ were _ in love, in tired monotone, but her humor’s there.

“Careful, Tim or I’ll start to think you’re in love with me.”

Tim raises his eyebrows in surprise, fumbling for something to say to that, and lets out an inaudible sigh of relief when she moves across the room, her gaze falling from him. She doesn’t expect an answer. He watches her do a grand wave in front of the window, “Well, doofus? Get out.”

“I love you, Steph.”

The words cross Tim’s mind, and leaves a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach. Tim regrets a great deal of things, and he’s trying not to regret more, so he doesn’t say it. 

It’s haunted him, and it probably always will. The dichotomy of his parents' words and actions.

Tim knows what it’s like to be so angry, frustrated, murderous because they lie to you again and again and expect you to  _ believe _ it even when every single piece of evidence goes against it.

Do they think he’s that stupid? So easily controlled? Placated?

It doesn’t matter that he means it; it doesn’t  _ matter _ when he hasn’t given her the effort and time.

There’s just very little he can do because he’s part of it, part of her frustrations.

He doesn’t say it, can’t say it. 

Tim shuts his mouth instead and steps onto the window sill and holds a hand out. Because he knows that Stephanie never gives up, that that is always her greatest regret, ever letting something go. And so there’s one thing he can give her.

“What?” She asks.

She’s expressionless.

Tim just smiles, hand still held out, and after a moment, Stephanie turns.

“Wait. Look, Steph, I-” Tim fumbles on the sill.

Stephanie turns back around and says, “I need to put on my gear.”

Tim pauses, flushing.

“You probably thought you were so cool, stoic and silent.”

“Uh-”

“Shut up, Fool Wonder.” She sighs before cracking the tiniest grin, her features softening. Tim’s heart beats faster in a different kind of love. “Try try again, I guess. Meet you on the rooftop in five.”

Tim nods. He wants to try again too, a different way, a different kind of love.

“And Tim?”

“Yea?” Tim replies, turning.

“Don’t ever break into my apartment again.”

“No-ope,” Tim’s voice cracks, “Sorry, ma’am, won’t do it again.” And with that, he leaps out the window, falling, his eyes fixed on the yellow light flooding out of the window. He shoots the grappling hook and swings upwards.

Tim wonders when she’ll find the book and his note.

_ I’m not busy. _

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is weird, but I can never tell if someone wants a reply to their comment or not. So if you do comment, and want a response, put an @ at the beginning!


End file.
